The Taste of Squam was… a lot. I was there for less than 24 hours, and my head is full to bursting.

As so many people assured me, I never lacked for company. At times it felt like a whirlwind of new, friendly faces; with familiar faces sprinkled in like dust. I caught up with old friends, chatted with whoever was nearby, and enjoyed being immersed in the camp atmosphere.

It was more “wander around the woods” weather, and less “hang out on the dock” weather, but it was still quite lovely to be lakeside…

That was the view from the base of my cabin.  It did not suck.

After settling in for a bit, and enjoying the silence of an empty cabin. (Devoid of people, not things; there were the accoutrements of 7 strangers neatly tucked into several of the bedrooms, including half of my own.  This made for an interesting contrast of peaceful solitude, and intriguing mystery.)

I wandered to the Ravelry Revelry, through a path in the woods and with some new friends picked up along the way.  Squam was like that.

Yeah, the knitting was good, the conversation even better, but I particularly liked that the kegs were being kept cool with ice cut from the lake last winter, and the blocks kept in the ice house (pictured above) for the past several months.  Just like they’ve done for the past 115 years at Squam Lake:

I returned from the Revelry to my cabin, with the idea of freshening up for dinner, to find my cabin mates were hanging out on the porch, complete with a spread of (several bottles of) wine and snackies.  The welcomed us in (by us, and I mean Kristen – Med School Knitter, for those of you who go back that far! – and I) rather rowdily and merrily, and I knew they were my people.  Spunky, wine-drinking knitters.  It was good times.

More ice from the lake!

I really couldn’t get a picture that did them justice, but there was a trail of ice lanterns lighting the path to the Art Fair after dinner.  (Ice and Fire y’all!  Does that make anyone else think of Game of Thrones??  Or am I just geeking out.  Probably just geeking out.  Moving on.)

And the Art Fair…

There was beautiful handmade porcelain by Gleena.  I bought a beautiful cup with ‘joy’ imprinted upon it (not pictured).

And more breathtaking ceramics by Elizabeth Benotti.  These looked like they came straight from an Edward Gorey illustration, or a John Bellairs book (which Google just told me were mostly illustrated by Edward Gorey.  That makes sense).  They made my heart glad.

Speaking of good illustration, Ysolda had a booth:

And I almost fell down in the Pink Pigeon booth and bought my sons adorable aprons.  I barely resisted, and really was only deflected by some unorthodox, but highly effective, counsel.  But, the little birds!  The monster head!  LOVE.

Another picture that doesn’t do the subject justice.  This button booth (and I didn’t even get the card!) sucked in many a unwary crafter.  Well, at least one in particular.  Twice.

So, yeah.  That was about it.  I’m not sure I’m covering the cabins sufficiently (which were both fabulously rustic, yet, very nicely appointed – stone fireplaces laid with wood each day by a camp attendant, well-constructed wrap-around screened-in porches, soft beds, warm linens) or the camp atmosphere… (extremely well-run, scents of pine, humus, lake, fresh mountain air, with foot paths that snake through the camp emphasizing the pedestrian over the car).

I’d like to come back to Squam Arts Workshop, for the whole creative experience one day, in the future, when it won’t be such a burden for me to leave my family for 4 days; but I’d like to come back even sooner with my family, and enjoy the Camp, in and of itself.

(It reminded me of childhood summers up at Lake Winnipesaukee at my grandparents’ cabin.  The smell, the feel of the air… isn’t it incredible how that smell can bring you back 30 years so vividly?  Does that happen to anyone else?)